


Three Awkward Conversations to get us Here

by afullrevolution



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Arranged Marriage, Artificial Insemination, Asexual Character, Babies, Childbirth, Families of Choice, Family, Fluff, Gen, Laura!asexual, M/M, Mpreg - one sentence discussion of, Not Canon Compliant, Pregnancy, Stiles!Nurse Practitioner, Stiles!Werewolf, Tropes, at all, minimal violence, petting, werewolf related violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-17 14:04:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1390519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afullrevolution/pseuds/afullrevolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The three most unexpected and awkward conversations of Stiles' life happened over three long years and led directly to here. And here is really a place he likes to be. So. Awkward, in Stiles' biased opinion, really isn't so bad. Particularly when associated with Derek, Laura, and her bizarre plans for pack fulfillment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There will be some minimally described violence in the first of the awkward conversations. There will be some cursing. 
> 
> Planned for three conversations - a chapter each for a total of four chapters.
> 
> Notes just in case - Stiles is somewhere around the age of 25. Works with the hospital as a Nurse Practitioner. Has his own office in association with Dr. Lydia Martin's practice, as NP's often do. I can't really see Lydia getting into this line of doctoring, but it worked for the story.
> 
> Further note - it has been pointed out to me that Nevada is not a state where Stiles and Derek could get married. Sadly, true. So, I'm just going to go for the whole - this is set in some happy future. Happy happy. (See endnotes for apology link.)
> 
> Finally - this is based on some really old notes. I've changed them significantly, but it doesn't take season three into account at all.

The three most unexpected, life changing, and above all awkward conversations of Stiles' life happened over three years. Non coincidentally they all involved one Laura Hale.

The first of those three conversations had to do with why it had been absolutely necessary for Stiles' spine to be broken a few hours prior. That lovely conversational gambit was followed by how he was now a werewolf and how he now had a new family. It ended with the sentence "You're welcome for both."

The second horrifically awkward conversation had to do with arranged marriages. Despite less physicall pain and more carrots, this conversation was decidedly more awkward than the spine incident. At least the-spine-indident-conversation made sense in context. This conversation was like a sudden deluge. Complete with lightning strikes and Laura's growls as thunder. Because really, having his marriage arranged without consultation wasn't something he'd ever asked for, no matter how often Laura claimed he had.

The final awkward conversation took place only half a year after the second. It was less shocking than the first two, but horrific for a good few, sputtering minutes before the full parameters of the planned impregnation were actually laid out and Stiles' first horrified assumptions killed. Then the conversation was just disturbing and somewhat disgusting. The outcome, however, was and continues to be awesome.

Said three conversations played their part in leading him directly to here. The here with this family in this house. And here is a place he really likes being. So, really, awkward conversations in Stiles' incredibly biased opinion aren't so bad. Particularly when associated with Derek, Laura, and Laura's unexpected plans for pack fulfillment.

The following are Stiles' recollections of those three, life altering conversations.


	2. The First Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That in which an accidental meeting with Peter and Laura in the woods breaks Stiles out of his existential funk before they (sort of) sit down for a nice conversation in the leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be the only sort-of-violent chapter.

To understand Stiles’ mindset going into the first awkward conversation, one needs to understand the nature of the events leading up to it. Hence, the rather hum drum nature of Stiles usual, some what unsatisfactory existence will be sketched out. That in turn will lead into the unexpectedly violet nature of the specific episode that prompted awkward conversation number one. 

Stiles often felt at times that there must be a mysterious thing. Maybe a word, perhaps an expression. He used to feel that if he could just find it, he could explain things. What, he didn't know. He did know that there was a bit of a whole. And he thought if he knew whatever the missing word was, it would clarify something at least. 

He’d been looking for it that night in the woods. Searching for it with his hands in his pocket and his bag slung over his shoulder after a normal, long twelve and a half hour shift at the hospital. He had been tired, but rather wired. Stiles remembered that bit clearly. Or could assume that was the situation as it had been so many times before.

What he couldn't quite recall was why he'd taken that particular path that night. There were several he frequented as he'd wander from the hospital. His reasoning didn't really matter of course. Either way, whatever the reason for being precisely where he was, he had came across the woman in the woods. And that Event knocked the rest loose and led instead to Derek, babies, and rapidly growing werewolf families with homicidal uncles.

Before the Event, Stiles hadn't expected his life to progress quite as it did. He couldn't have said how it should have developed, but definitely with a little more ump. As things stood, he'd been a firm believer in letter the wind tale you and being open to the world of random happenstance. Somehow, that wind (more of a gentle breeze really) had promoted him to become a Nurse Practitioner (thank you very much) because even if he had long ago realized that vaginas weren't for him in the bedroom, they were still amazingly fascinating (they could open up enough for an entire person to come out). But he hadn't thought graduation with a degree in nursing would put a diploma in his hands, a solid job in his lap, and his ass right back where he'd started. Somehow he'd imagined more adventure before settling down in the same house as his dad. He loved him, but he didn’t care for monotony. And his life was feeling rather scheduled.

That sense, as might now be apparebt, had been why he'd been wandering the woods alone in a state of existential angst and physical exhaustion. Two days off in front of him in which to celebrate his freedom alone. The scheduling gods had seen fit to have both Scott and his dad pull late shifts. And yet the world just sort of kept spinning regardless.

Stiles was not dumb enough to drink alone in the woods. He'd done that once or twice as a teenager and it hadn't mixed well with his meds. Plus, he didn't want to do that to his dad. Instead, to get a buzzed feeling at limited cost, he just didn't take his meds that evening. Skipping his meds wasn't unlike being high. On something. Taking two shots of vodka maybe. It was all part of the usual existential-celebration-of-days-off.

He wondered later, when he let himself really think about it just once or twice, if he would still have run towards the sounds of a fight if he had been focused and firing on all levels. He thought he would. He'd always been fascinated by the burning surge of adrenaline.

In course of events that did happen, there was a woman in the woods, who looked shocked, was sobbing perhaps, Stiles never knew and she certainly claimed she hadn’t shed a tear (said it after certain commercials too, would claim her eyes were watering because of the onions she’d cut the day before). Either way, the possible wetness of her cheeks or redness of the eye lost in her words.

The woman was calling a savage, twisted, barely-human-shaped thing "Peter", asking what he was doing, why he didn't answer her. She sounded so hurt, so angry. Stiles could see that the thing wanted to tear into her, rip her apart, even as she was so clearly trying not to hurt it. And for all that Stiles was just himself, he was perhaps more than one step towards crazy. Or must have been, because he ran forward, called on unknown powers of coordination to grab his deodorant out of his bag, and sprayed whatever-the-hell-the-beast-was in its fucking face.

He didn't stop there either, his momentum carrying him forward. The beast paused to turn to him, hacking and snarling into a cloud of scent (Stiles later swore he would never use again), and Stiles pulled out his pocket knife (of all the tiny things) and stabbed it in its left eye, jamming the small blade in as hard as he could.

The woman was there instantly, pulling him away, howling at him to stop in a voice that shook his bones. His body froze in response, the voice paralyzing his movements, but she was already throwing him off and away. With too much strength apparently, because his body hit hard against a nearby tree. He heard his bones snap and shatter. Shock stole most of the pain away as he saw the woman's form expand, twist, and shift. He watched as she became something like the thing that was still trying to attack, shaking the knife from its eye-socket. The woman lashed out, grabbing the thing’s throat, biting into its flesh. The thing collapsed to the ground, twitching, dwindling back into a human shape, a gapping wound in its side.

Sounds that tried to hold meaning were pouring out of Stiles' mouth accompanied by bubbles of blood. He doubted the noises were words to anyone but him. He also wondered if a rib had broken and punctured his lung, because he didn't know if he was actually breathing.

And the woman ('werewolf!' he thought, he wasn’t sure) approached him, sank to the ground, looked over his body with a frown. Stiles thought she might be worried, if her muttered curses were anything to go by (shit kid, fuck this stupid day, didn't mean to break you).

She leaned forward, nostrils twitching, her hand reaching for his chest. He couldn't feel fingers, couldn't see them either, his eyes trapped on her face, staring at the movement of her nose and the strange ridges along her face. They hadn't been there earlier. Not when he'd first seen her.

Her mouth was still moving. Something about dying and changing.

Her eyes met his, right before she darted in and bit him, teeth tearing into flesh near the broken rib. His scream was more of a gurgle, throat too wet to make the proper sounds. He was grateful for the adrenaline that was already flooding his system, because he expected that that might have hurt otherwise. He expected it would soon. If he managed to make it out of the woods. He didn't think he would, not with the lack of air in at least one of his lungs.

But then he also didn't expect her to stay next to him and start digging through his pockets as he lay panting, wheezing, dying. Didn't really know what she wanted with his wallet or his phone when she finally got them out, but she rifled through his identification and looked annoyed when the phone’s screen was locked. She put it in his limp hands, told him to unlock it in a voice that compelled him to move his numb fingers. It took him a while.

She stayed crouched down next to him, looking at him. Ran a thumb across his brow, smoothing it and for a moment he felt better. Later he would remember that he thought she was something like his mother. Her eyes soft, kind. Comforting while he was sick. He felt like he was flying. Euphoric. He thought he might be loosing any sense of reality. He tried to tell her about, but he didn’t know if the thoughts made the trip to his tongue or not.

She didn’t respond to his ideas either way. She just stayed, taking his phone from him once it was unlocked, ignoring him but for absent pats on the head, in favor of reading his messages and calling someone.

Telling whoever was on the other end that she didn't really give a shit what he was doing or what his sensibilities were, the "problem" had evidently been Peter. She told the someone-called-Derek to save the number, to get to her. To help her with this. (Derek, Derek, listen to me. I know consent is an important issue, but I wasn't going to have someone's death on my hands, particularly when he was apparently trying to help. It's not like he was a hunter. Seriously, he jumped Peter. It was awesome. And wherever he got his stupid spray on deodorant, that stuff is deplorable. And, shit Derek, he stabbed Peter in the eye with this little penknife. I'm not even sure how he got it open while he was moving. You have to come meet this kid. His smell is ... Either way, there is going to be fall out from this shit and I'll be damned if I leave our uncle to the mother fucking hunters, no matter how insane he might be. Besides. The family has expanded (yeah, or I've killed a kid) and you have to come meet the guy. A new puppy and a crazy beta. Not exactly the situation I expected when I came out here. But. You had to roll with the punches. And yeah family!)

Stiles wondered as he passed out if he was going to become a werewolf now. 

The actual awkward conversation all this context has been leading up to took place after Stiles woke back up. His very first thought upon doing so was that yes, he must be some sort of were-beast now because he still in the woods, still on his side, and he could feel his body knitting back together. It was the gasping re-inflation of his lung that had knocked him out of his dreams. And now, trying his fingers and his toes, he found he could even twitch his leg. It was tender, certainly. He felt like his skin had been stretched and his muscle tissue restrung. As if someone had been stabbing needles into his lungs. And he could fucking see the individual leaves above him. It sort of scared the crap out him in a low key, panicked way.

Huh.

Something shifted in his back with a pop and it felt like his body was coming back online. Feeling seeping into his toes, the burn died away, and he realized he was starving. He really, really wanted to eat. He got caught for a moment obsessing over an imaginary burger before he started wondering if he could take down a deer now. Likely not. It was still too hard to move at the moment. But who knew what this body would be able to do now!

Then the woman was leaning over him, interrupting his thoughts, pulling his eyelids even further apart in a way that was supremely uncomfortable.

He tried pulling his head away, but she just grabbed his chin and forced him to look at him. He couldn't, found his eyes skittering away from the red of her eyes and his chin lolling to the side. She nipped his fucking throat (of all things) and said he was a good pup, pulled him up into a sitting position, propped him against the tree, and looked him over. He wanted to kick her. Who did she think he was, manhandling him like that.

He closed his eyes and tried to breath. Took a deep breath to see if he could, to calm himself down. It did. Startling him with the clarity of the moss and earth under him. The decaying smells around him were glorious. He forgot himself and lay there picking the scents apart.

He would remember how the different notes of tree made him giggle hysterically. He'd never really thought of the trees as being individuals before, not really. He didn't know which smell went with what kind, didn't know enough about any sort of plants for that, but right now he just wanted to touch them all. Put faces to smells. His fingers twitched out, inching slowly toward the bark of the tree he'd broken against earlier, the one he was leaning against now. He had always had poor impulse control. This was going to be awesome.

She flicked his forehead, pulled him out it, away from the hypnotic trees, to tell him that they really needed to talk. She figured he was scrawny, but he would do. He tried to listen, really he did, but his eyes caught on Peter, still lying, another man leaning over him. Stiles sort of wanted to see if the new guy smelled as good as the trees did. The idea was supremely absorbing.

The woman followed his gaze and smirked. Stiles narrowed his eyes at her, suspicious about just what she knew. She seemed like the kind that picked up on shit.

The one on the ground, she told him, was Peter. Their uncle, back from the fucking dead and bat-shit-homicidally-insane by the looks of things. But at least he was no longer comatose. They'd work on it. She was sure they would all get on eventually. The other one was Derek (the guy glanced at the them and then back at the downed man, gentle hand over what looked to Stiles like burned skin).

Stiles had a hard time listening to that first conversation, thought then that the lack of focus was why Laura steam-rolled over him so easily. Why her explanations sounded so logical at the time. She really had had to throw him and break his spine. Otherwise, Peter might have killed him outright and perhaps tried to dismember him. She had no choice but to bite him after that to save his life. He didn’t want her to be a killer after all. And it made perfect sense that she was not at all sorry it was him. It was, of course, good for a pack to have a connection at the hospital and he did smell so nice under all that antiseptic. Well, now that he was a werewolf and part of the pack. Which made them family! She was quite pleased about that. But really, it was quite understandable that she thought they would all get along well once the whole awkwardness-of-attempted-manslaughter wore off. So, in short, he was welcome for the spine-thing and for turning him.

Stiles’ eyes kept creeping back to Derek and his fingers kept toying with the tears in his scrubs. His clothes were a bloody mess, hospital property destroyed. He wondered if he should bother taking them back, or he should just dump them in bio-hazard. and he was really, really hungry.

He wasn't sure what to do with Laura’s speech, with the fact his legs weren't broken, so his first clear words to the other three may have been “Yeah, thanks and all that. I'm hungry. Can we go home for breakfast? Pancakes. I think I really need pancakes.”

Laura laughed, Derek looked surprised, and Peter looked vacant. Well, Laura had said they needed to work on him. 

But this was new and Stiles usually adored new. Loved the whole not knowing and finding out. The whole guessing turning eventually into certainty. He felt like he had gotten a really cool toy.

He’d realize later that he had been in shock. That his reactions weren’t exactly thought out, hardly rational. But then he had always been the type to attempt and help the snarling animal and try to psychoanalyze the bully who punched him in the face. He didn't usually, you know, go around stabbing things. But, looking at Laura and Derek staring back at him, he sort of wondered if they operated on a no-lasting-harm-no-foul principal, because they didn't seem to care that he'd stabbed their uncle or to think that he should worry about being thrown against a tree.

He could work with that, although he couldn't promise not to panic later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be posted next week. At the moment, I find myself desperately needing to go watch QI.


	3. Conversation 2

"Stiles, I've arranged your marriage" was Laura's opening gambit from the kitchen doorway in the second, most awkwardly painful conversation of Stiles' life.

Stiles can very, truly, honestly say he never expected to hear that sentence aloud. And certainly not in reference to him. Some of his clients were participants in the long, glorious tradition of such arranged unions. Some liked it, some didn't. Seemed pretty standard as far as successful unions went. But. He had never thought it would be something for him.

Stiles’ shock prompted immediate, un-meditated, defensive words "No. Nope. That is not going to happen. No way. No how. That's stupid. I'm never going through with your diabolical plot" as he brandished a red carrot at her. Derek, white apron tied around his waste, stood in frozen surprise by the kitchen island, ceramic knife in hand, thyme neatly aligned across the cutting block. Stiles could smell the rabbit cooking in the Dutch-oven on the stove. Stiles adored braised rabbit.

While each of the points in that picture could be explained, it’s the red carrot's symbolic role that will feature in the next paragraphs. It played an important role. Or did according to Stiles.

According to Stiles, who was more than happy to provide an explanation of the carrot to anyone who ever asked about the story of his arranged marriage in years to come. No one listening quite understood why Stiles had to spend so many loving words expended on a carrot it almost became pornographic, but he always did.

Stiles personally felt that the carrot was symbolic, provided necessary background to how the events of the conversation played out, explained his relationship with the participants involved. Not, he always claimed, that the carrot itself was actually important. It was really only as a symbol that it played a role (even if it had been tasty). Because the day Laura had chosen to make her announcement had been a carrot day.

A carrot day, for those who did not grow up with Stiles, was one those days during which Stiles just had to eat a fresh carrot or three. Maybe a bunch. It was not to be confused with pancake days or the dreaded-green-cake-days.

The carrots were representative as part of a complex schematic associated with days of the week, quality of the day, and emotional state. That it was a carrot-day necessary meant it was Wednesday or Saturday. It also meant that it was a no good, horrible, bad day (not to be confused with a horrific day). A no-good-horrible-bad-day required some sort of small, thoughtful gift from another person to overcome. As it was a Wednesday or a Saturday, it was a market day, which meant Boyd’s Vegetables were for sale. Which meant his rainbow-carrots were available.

That particular day downright dreadfulness had been announced from the moment he'd opened his eyes. He'd woken up late again. So late that he failed to eat breakfast on his way out the door and then crushed his cookie in his frantic search for his missing Batman pen. Lydia was unsympathetic to his plight.

Stiles'd discovered the terrible truth about the cookie when he emptied his bag, rooting for said pen and instead discovered enough crumbs for a cookie and a scrap of plastic wrap that once held a cookie, but no cookie. There were enough large-chunks-of-crumbs to contemplate the merits of pretending they weren't mixed with lint. But, Stiles would swear that one of the downsides of werewolf-dom was an inability to not taste that lint. It made him wish for just a small moment that he had never stabbed anyone in the eye. The sentiment persisted through Stiles' subsequent demonstration of his capacity for manly activities by stoically upending his crumb-filled-bag over the trash. The cookie-regret lasted through the minute-of-silence during which he mourned the end of the cookie. A cookie, which had failed to complete its purpose. He felt in that moment that he could sympathize. He knew he was being ridiculous. But it was just one of those days no-good-horrible-bad-day.

Hence the need for farm-fresh carrots, as Stiles would tell anyone who asked about his marriage-experience. The carrots were absolutely necessary to overcome the trauma of a lost cookie, the failure to find his pen, and his missed-Derek-moment. If he hadn't woken up late, Derek would have made him a cup of tea with toast for breakfast. Toast liberally spread with homemade marmalade and served with a side of sausage.

According to Laura, it was the job of a lead beta to make sure the rest of the pack was cared for. According to Peter, during one of his more wakeful moments, it was because Derek's life-aspiration was to become a house-husband. Which he always said with a suggestive wink in Stiles’ direction.

Stiles, being a smart duck, ignored everything that came out of Peter's mouth. Hilarious to listen to, but not trustworthy in the least.

Whatever. Stiles' days were definitely better when Derek made him breakfast. Particularly because Derek made wonderful preserves. Which Stiles had missed. Along with his Derek-time and his cup of tea. As well as the hug that Derek would usually give him as he saw Stiles to the door. The hug that Stiles would lean into, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder, because werewolves were tactile-animals who just needed a little bit of affection to keep the beast at bay. Laura claimed he was a moron if that’s what he thought. He was sticking to that claim. It had absolutely nothing to do with anything else. Certainly unrelated to the way his heart would speed up just a tiny bit and the first minutes of his trip to work were invariably spent flushed and a little dreamy.

Which leads back to how on that day, Stiles had missed out on marmalade and hugs all before having to consign his cookie to the trash.

But Stiles knew it would be alright. He could hold his head high and stay strong because he was going to have carrots later. Because Derek would buy them for him on his farmer's market run. He texted Derek and Derek, ever verbose, had sent him a time-stamped photo of Boyd's Garden Stand in almost immediate reply.

Stiles loved Boyd. Loved the vegetables that man quietly ruled over.

But not as much as he loved Derek at that moment. Derek was, after all, the one who bought him his carrots. Derek was the one who would wash them and leave the stems so that Stiles could pretend to be a were-rabbit. Derek could be trusted for things like that. Not like Laura, who would buy a skinned-rabbit and tell Stiles' to remember that he was supposed to be higher up the food chain. (Who was she kidding? Stiles knew she'd seen Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Rabbits could be vicious.)

Stiles did like being a werewolf. He did and he was sticking to that claim through tsunamis and other sorts of high water events. It had taken some getting used to. But now that he was one, now that he had a pack that functioned like all the family he'd ever wanted, he'd be damned if he was going to just let it go. Particularly as his Dad adored Laura and kept an eye on Peter. Now that Derek and Scott got along like long-lost brothers. (Who'd even seen that coming?)

When Stiles had, in a desperate panic not two months after the first painfully-awkward conversation told his dad that he felt like he was being lulled into affectionate complacency, his dad had claimed they became important so quickly because you had to love your family. Even if you didn't choose them. Even if they arrived unexpectedly on your doorstep at dawn, skin covered in blood and with mouths full of revelations about werewolves and pack. Added to their value as instant-family, according to his dad, anyone who could both keep Stiles in line and the crime rates down deserved some affection.

So there was a beloved pack. With Laura who watched them all with a jealous eye, planning for their future happiness. And Derek who took care of their day to day.

Derek, who bought him presents and sweets. From carrots to peppermints just because Stiles liked them. Despite the fact that Derek hated peppermint. Claimed the smell was too potent. Which was exactly the reason Stiles liked it. It cut off everything else for just a moment, brought everything to focus on that surreal point of sweet-coolness.

Just thinking about Derek bringing him carrots definitely improved Stiles’ day. The expectation of crunchy sweetness (as provided by Derek) consumed the majority of his concentration for the rest of the day. Stiles could -and would- explain at length about how, on those days he would stare between some patient's legs, chatting nicely ("I'm just going to insert this nice-duck-billed-looking-implement and get a smear. That wasn't so bad, was it? Oh, you have great ovaries. They're exactly where they should be.") and imagine biting into the hard orange-red root structure.

His thoughts walking home had been consumed by cookie crumbs, carrots, and the reliability of Derek's carrot purchasing powers. Upon walking in the door, smelling of antiseptic and wearing his jungle scrubs, it was the bundle (a bundle!) of multicolored (so many colors!) carrots on the table that immediately captured his attention. They were so beautiful, so full of delightful promise, they brought tears of joy to his eyes.

"You" he'd told Derek, pulling out red carrot and pointing it in Derek’s direction "May be the perfect man. I think I will keep you." Derek had glanced up at Stiles and smiled. Stiles felt like maybe, just maybe, they were having a moment.

That had been when Laura had walked into the doorway and dropped her conversation gambit about arranged marriages. Stiles had instant-images of being sent away. Cruelly torn from the bosom of the large-family he had only recently acquired. It galvanized Stiles into action-filled words, brought on an impassioned speech about how, if Laura tried to make Stiles marry anyone, he was taking Derek and running for the border. It wouldn't matter if Laura tried to use her super-alpha powers. Stiles would do it. He wasn't going to be given away to some other family like a prize.

There was red, chunky spray interspersed throughout the speech as he angrily gnawed at his carrot and tried to stare Laura down.

Laura's eyebrow was eloquent and Derek looked surprised the kitchen's central counter, his knife poised over the fragrant herbs. He hadn't moved since Laura's announcement.

The stare-down didn't quite work. It never did when Laura's eyes flashed red at an obvert challenge.

Stiles switched gears, went from enraged and ready for battle to pleading. He was exhausted. She shouldn't ask him to do this. At least give him time to mourn his fate, think about this. She should have to give him three gowns, one as silver as the moon.

"Stiles," Laura broke in just as he was working his way up to truly inspired whining, "You're marrying Derek." Derek made a sound of surprise, Stiles’ hand froze mid carrot-wave "We're driving to Vegas. I had hoped a year and half would be enough for you two to figure things out. But I'm tried of waiting. Sick of watching this drawn out courting-dance you two have refined. I can’t stand carrots being viewed as romantic. I hate carrots,” She held up a hand to stop Stiles building protests. “So, I've arranged your dream wedding. We're leaving in the morning."

Stiles looked at Derek. His face looked blank, exactly how he always looked when he wanted something so badly he was sure it wouldn't work out. Stiles' heart picked up, beating a familiar off-rhythm it took on whenever he looked at Derek in a certain way. Derek looked back at him.

Stiles turned to Laura "There will be an Elvis impersonator?"

Laura nodded "I've already booked a slot and paid the fee."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there is any doubt about the existence of rainbow carrots, go [here](https://www.google.de/search?q=rainbow+carrots&espv=210&es_sm=91&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=AMBBU7eLBoWGswaP5YGoAQ&ved=0CAgQ_AUoAQ&biw=808&bih=562).
> 
> Also - [Rabbit scene](https://www.google.de/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CCwQtwIwAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Dpmu5sRIizdw&ei=H2tCU6XGEYvLsgaEz4GQDg&usg=AFQjCNHsxdBjRNo2y1Q4PjbmKSXnKH8LVw&sig2=lKWHIRvqkqX0iPcXcpAjDA&bvm=bv.64367178,d.Yms), in case you haven't seen it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conversation about the baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a discussion of child birth and lady-bits in this chapter. Be warned.
> 
> Note that the umbilical cord is usually cut around a minute after birth. Not really that important, but I like to share.

Stiles always claimed that the third conversation was a little like waking up from an unexpected dream. Stiles was laying on their bed for an early morning nap, Derek's fingers in his hair, running along his scalp. Just home, barely half past six in the morning. Stiles had attended a home birth over night. The witching hours had been spent listening to a woman screaming hatred of her ceiling. She was a single mother with a foul mouth and going to be an amazing parent, if the look she gave the red, wrinkled thing in her arms at the end of the ordeal was anything to go by. Not that it was, but Stiles always hoped.

Derek had come to pick him up when it was over. After the measuring, the weighing. The associated paperwork. The woman hadn't been able to decide on a name, but she had time for that. A little, at least. He’d have to stop by again later in the day, see how the baby was taking to her breast. He’d ask about the name then.

The sun had been rising when Derek had escorted him from the car, threaded their fingers together, pulling him inside the house. Derek pushed him into the shower to get rid of the remaining flecks of foreign body fluids.

There had been French toast when he'd emerged, scrubbed and clean, smelling like olives from the soap. French toast with maple syrup and an open ear to listen to descriptions of the gory mess of childbirth. When it went well, Stiles often found the process hilarious. Couldn't avoid thinking about aliens and changelings. Kept thinking that one day Athena would emerge fully formed. Or Stiles would deliver a Benjamin Button. This kid hadn’t been any of those, but he'd had to spend hours convincing the girl to exit its mother (she'd finally listened in the end). Stiles speculated that the kid knew she would have to face off against a hard world. Sometimes he thought it wasn’t fair. The whole kid thing. After all, the kid didn't have a choice about being born about it and wouldn't even know it for years and years. Stiles informed Derek morosely that at least this one would likely have a caring mother. He was feeling tired and cranky as he stared down at his empty plate. The French toast was gone.

Derek pushed him away from the kitchen toward their room, murmured something about liking children. That he thought they would have a happy baby because any pup would be lucky to have a father likes Stiles. Stiles had, after all, learned from a great example.

Stiles muttered something about "that's what you think", but protests and coherent discussions were lost as Derek pulled him down on the bed and began to stroke his hair with feather light touches alternating with gentle tugs. He started to tell Stiles stories his grandmother had loved to divulge like precious secrets, having long ago learned that Stiles fell asleep fastest when he was distracted from his thoughts. (His dad thought Stiles was over sharing whenever he described the sleepy-bedroom part of the story.)

Stiles was almost out, drifting away, when Laura was suddenly there, perching at the foot of their bed. She gave a brief commentary on comfort and late shifts (“Nice that you get to come home to such a comfortable bed after a late shift”). Darling betas and happy families (“Oh, my darling betas. We make such a happy family”). She’d tugged Stiles’ toe and Stiles did his best to ignore her.

Her segue ruined his efforts, smooth as it was with her “Now that I’ve prepped you both, I have an announcement. I’ve decided it is high time Stiles have a baby.”

Derek's tight grip on Stiles’ hair prevented him from jerking away, resulting instead in Stiles' eyes watering in pain. Derek's hurried apologies were accompanied by Laura's laughter, overlaid by Stiles spluttered claims that there was no way in fucking hell he was getting pregnant. He hadn’t known that was even possible. Why didn't they warn him about these things?

After horrified seconds, Laura assured him she wasn't asking him to get pregnant. He couldn't get pregnant. Although she liked the mental image of it. But sadly no. Boy bodies and girl bodies were still just that, even for werewolves. What she wanted was just for him to fill a nice, safe cup. He could even get Derek's help if he needed a hand!

It was pure reflex that he caught the small container lobbed at his head.

He stared at the thing in horror, demanding to know just what she was planning. Were there some weird rituals? Were they going to craft babies out of clay and bits of fur? Inscribe words of power into the golems’ foreheads?

"I'm sure that it's been tried," Laura answered "but I was thinking about the tried and true version of baby-making." Stiles stared at her. Would later claim exhaustion for why he couldn't for the life of him figure what she was on about.

"Stiles, come on! You work with women's bodies for a living and I still have to spell this out? I am going to take the contents of the cup, transfer it into a turkey baster, and then insert said baster into my vaginal cavity and let your sperm go to work." Stiles' stomach rolled and he thought he might want to vomit, which would be a first since Laura had bit him. The nausea got worse as she continued "In a couple weeks, I'll pee on a stick and then have you repeat the cup-step or set up an appointment for me at your office."

Stiles tried to hand the cup back. Laura refused to take the thing "until it was full". She really had no interest in a partner, and certainly not in sex, so she had to decided to carry Stiles' baby (or three. They’d see how the first one worked out. But she was thinking three in total). To Stiles' high-pitched protestations of horror, she told him "It made sense if he'd stop freaking out and think about it!"

Evidently she had reasoned that as he and Derek couldn't exactly accidently knock each other up, she'd have to be the one to carry. This would serve the dual purpose of enlarging the pack and giving them all the baby they craved (don't deny it Stiles). Really, it wouldn't have been to much longer before it occurred to them to ask her. She was just preempting them. They were pack anyway, so whatever baby they had would be her's too. Might as well all be involved.

"But!" Stiles said, a touch hysterically, going for the denial she'd already forbidden, "we've never even talked about kids!"

Laura's eyes expressed her deep disbelief. "You two talk about children all the time. Constantly. It usually goes 'Oh Derek, isn't childbirth a blessed little miracle?' And then comes Derek's 'we'll be amazing parents who will raise our little pups according to grand Hale traditions complete with happy-werewolf-tales', which he then demonstrates while day dreaming about children and stroking your hair." She looked at Stiles pointedly.

Stiles' turned to appeal to Derek, for back up, but Derek's eyes had gone dreamy while his fingers stroked soothingly lines down Stiles' arm. Stiles felt himself weakening. Derek wanted this.

"Besides", Laura was telling Stiles, "just think of how much fun it'll be to explain to other parents."

That was true. Stiles could envision that. Imagine pushing a stroller and people's confusion as he laid out the details. Although, the kid would have to have a high constitution rating to bear with it all. A little like naming a boy Sue, he thought.

Still. Spreading confusion was not a reason to have a kid. "Turkey basters are disgusting," Stiles tried, feeling petulant.

Laura was unimpressed by his argument. Stiles couldn't blame her, he wasn't convinced by it either. He excused his lapse in awesome argument skills by telling himself he was tired as Laura continued. "Disgusting is relative. You dislike turkey basters at this moment because of the association with my vagina, but I'm sure you've recommended them to lesbian clients. I think turkey basters are just a tool for transferring fluids. If you prefer, I can use a large syringe. What I would find disgusting, would be for me would be to participate in the kind of fluid transfer you two engage in. Sooo not my cup of tea."

The mental image of Laura participating in any such activity made Stiles blanch. Derek continued to stroke his arm soothingly. Stiles suspected he was ignoring them both in favor of imagining their future progeny. Stiles could picture Derek with children. He did excel at the whole caring shtick. The bouncing and burping would probably make him all glowy.

Laura was still talking. "Besides, you like some levels of disgusting. You treat sexually transmitted infections for a living and think genital warts can be fascinating." Stiles couldn't deny that.

"Which is why you will fill that cup without giving me details. I will take the goods from you and give as many details you ask for. There will be lots of cuddling and food in all of our futures. Because Derek will stress cook while you rub my poor, swollen feet."

Technically, Laura’s part in the conversation ended there, when Derek kicked her out of the room (Stiles insisted that it was more of a gentle request) and helped Stiles fill the cup.

Stiles felt that his talk with his dad, counted as a continuation of the same conversation. It was, after all, terribly awkward. What with how he fled to his dad’s right after the cup was handed over, his hair still askew. Fled all the way across the street to panic at his dad’s breakfast table, ranting about the horrors of child rearing and how he just wasn’t ready. But shit, he wanted that baby.

His dad had looked stunned, then pleased. He’d hugged him, congratulated him, and told him the three of them would make wonderful parents. Then sent him home.

Stiles spent the rest of the morning curled in bed, happily debating out room colors with Derek. He finally fell asleep only after Laura announced that they would now just have to wait and see.a

\-----

There were lots of disturbing and awkward moments as a result of that conversation. As a rule (not to be contradicted), Stiles claimed to find Laura's pregnancy and everything associated therewith distressing. But what Stiles found particularly disgusting was not the pregnancy itself, but how right Laura turned out to be.

Well, not about her feet swelling. Morning sickness related vomiting was definitely a problem, swelling at the ankles not so much. Evidently werewolf-dom took care of the one, but not the other. For months, cooked meat became an absolute no-go, the smell turning her stomach before she could even took a bite. Raw meat, however, she craved. Derek swore she ate her way through a cow's worth of meat over a two week period in the second trimester.

It was definitely disgusting to watch her eat. Some days she packed away enough food to feed Stiles and Derek for a month, while other days she barely touched her plate. Those were the days Derek looked close to tears and Stiles would have to try and console his delicate husband.

Laura, on the other hand, only ever cried on new moons. For some reason, the fuller the moon, the more stable her mood and the healthier she felt. The smaller it was, the more Laura dissolved.

It wasn’t just her moods that changed either. Stiles attributed his and Derek's behavior to pack connections. Not only did they both eat more with Laura (totally normal to gain sympathy weight), but both of them began to feel intensely distressed whenever anyone tried to touch her. Those well meaning individuals reaching for Laura's swelling abdomen where all-too-frequently blocked with unnecessary force. Stiles would find himself on tirades regarding respect of personal space while Derek's glare turned fierce. Derek, the softy, was developing a murderous reputation.

And the baby. The baby’s moods and movements influenced them all. He could hear her tiny heartbeat thumping away after six weeks. Listen to her little feet kick as she danced and tumbled to music that Laura suddenly couldn't get enough of.

So Laura ate and danced (when she wasn’t hunched over in the bathroom) while Derek cooked and cooked, the house filling with cookies and all-organic produce, depending on Laura's craving for the day.

And for Stiles, there was something infinitely more disgusting, terrifying, and utterly awesome about watching their daughter develop in utero - in Laura (Stiles never quite got over that) - than he'd ever experienced working with other women. But, it was their baby. All three of theirs. 

The days of endless dancing, vomiting, and protectiveness came to an end (or perhaps the baby just took Laura’s place) 36 weeks after that horridly awkward conversation. Two weeks before Stiles really expected her, one Sage Hale was born and immediate incited an argument about just what her name was supposed to be.

Stiles, after coaxing the baby from Laura’s body (head, arms, and finally feet) and clamping the umbilical cord, held her up, still covered in slime, and announced “Shit, she's beautiful”. Derek hovered, warm water and towel at the ready.

Laura looked on, bleary eyed, and declared “Her name is Sage.”

Stiles snorted, shook his head even as he cooed at their daughter. “No, no, really,” he said, carefully rinsing off her red skin. “I'm not naming her after a plant. You just think you want to name her that because Derek’s been burning the stuff again.” His baby stared at him with barely-open eyes. Stiles thought he might be in love. Knew he was in love, had been for months. He smiled up at Derek, name briefly slipping his mind.

Laura hadn’t forgotten. “You're not doing anything. I am,” Laura told him. Derek took the baby as Stiles head snapped around. He dried her gently while Stiles gesticulated between them, arguing “She's our daughter too!”

“But I was the one who had to be cut open while she tried to claw her way out,” Laura reached out toward her supposedly vicious baby and Derek moved over, settling her against Laura’s breast, touching her toes reverently.

Stiles pointed to Laura’s still spread-legs “You gave birth vaginally and she doesn't have claws yet!”

Laura shrugged, no longer deigning to look at Stiles. She touched the baby’s hands, uncurling them “It felt like she was clawing. Are you trying to tell me what that felt like?” She looked at him sharply “Are you?”

Stiles knew he had lost. But, he tried “Derek, tell her to go with what we picked.”

Derek stared at the baby “I like Sage.”

“You always take her side,” Stiles whined, beginning to clear Laura up, dealing with the after-birth.

Derek nodded, “When it gets me what I want.”

Stiles looked at them from between Laura’s legs. “So, we're naming her after an herb.”

Sage yawned and Laura smiled delightedly. Hair still plastered to her forehead.

\-----

Over the years, after Stiles’ long recitals of how they decided to have a baby (or three), Laura would claim that the most awkward conversation was actually one that Stiles ignored entirely (Stiles claimed that was because it wasn’t as weird as Laura thought). It went sometimes like:

Stiles: You should eat your placenta for strength.

Laura: Stiles, no, that's disgusting.

Stiles: It's traditional! Lot's of my patients do it.

Laura: I'm not starving for nutrients. You eat it.

Stiles: Fuck no. It's nasty.

Laura: Then don't ask me to.

Stiles: Fine. We should bury it under an apple tree. That's supposed to bring luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Note that some people (and animals) do eat the placenta. For some reason that I've never understood, a cousin of mine's baby-daddy was the one to eat it. He fried it with onions.
> 
> Also - [A Boy Named Sue](https://www.google.de/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CCwQtwIwAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D-1BJfDvSITY&ei=Cn5IU9bfC8LCtQag_oCoAQ&usg=AFQjCNFhgsX9Wx-YDQKp2OZ94VQXVN15mw&sig2=HLrzSFdfs7y6WWCl2bJK1Q&bvm=bv.64542518,d.Yms) is a song by Jonny Cash.

**Author's Note:**

> I do love comments. I just take a while to respond. So feel free to let me know if you have suggestions or what you think.
> 
> Because gay marriage is not legal in Nevada and I'm pretending it is (I mean, werewolves and arranged marriage, why not gay marriage?), I'll provide this link to [Jezebel about Honeymaid](http://jezebel.com/honey-maid-tells-homophobes-to-take-a-hike-in-best-resp-1557890754) to make up for it. Hopefully, the link and associated Honeymaid art will make up for my slip.
> 
> As usual, I can't spell and can't see mistakes. So feel free to let me know?


End file.
